%20(Square%20Cards).avif)
Have you ever sat in a room full of people — a meeting, a dinner, a gathering — and felt like you were performing a version of yourself that took everything you had to hold together?
Not because anything was wrong, exactly. But because somewhere underneath the nodding and the note-taking and the right-thing-to-say-at-the-right-time, your body was humming with a kind of restlessness that no one else seemed to notice.
For a long time, I thought that restlessness was just me. I thought it was anxiety. Or perfectionism. Or not trying hard enough.
As an adult, I discovered that I have ADHD.
I am still learning to absorb this new piece of myself — still holding it close while I figure out what it means for the life I have already built, the work I do, and the way I move through the world.
Anxiety has been part of my journey for much of my life. But underneath those experiences, there was always something else — something I could not quite name. Discovering ADHD has been like finding a puzzle piece I did not know was missing. Things that never quite made sense before are slowly connecting. It adds a layer of understanding that anxiety alone did not account for.
When most people think of ADHD, they picture a child bouncing off walls. But for many women, ADHD looks nothing like that. It looks like being the reliable one. The organized one. The one who holds it all together — until she cannot.
Women with ADHD are often diagnosed late, sometimes not until their thirties or forties, because the signs have been hidden behind years of masking — the effort, sometimes unconscious, sometimes very deliberate, to appear neurotypical. To compensate, adapt, and perform in ways that meet other people's expectations, even when it costs you everything.
It can look like over-preparing for every interaction because you are terrified of forgetting something. Saying yes to everything because saying no feels too risky. Spending hours on a task that should take twenty minutes — not because you do not care, but because your brain will not let go. Feeling exhausted by the end of the day, not from the work itself, but from the effort of appearing like it all came easily.
I wrote about the connection between procrastination and perfectionism before I had this language for it. Looking back now, I can see how deeply intertwined those patterns were with an unrecognised ADHD brain.
If any of this resonates, you are not alone. And you are not failing. You may simply be running a nervous system that has been in overdrive for a very long time.
One of the most surprising discoveries in my own journey came during a therapy session, when I learned I am a verbal processor. I was so struck by how well the description landed — like finally putting a name to something I had been doing my whole life without understanding why.
As a verbal processor, I think out loud. I work through feelings, decisions, and ideas by speaking them — not because I am seeking advice, but because the act of saying something aloud is how I find clarity. The words leave my mouth, land in my body, and something settles into place.
But this has not always been easy to navigate. Let me give you an example.
We were hosting a sound bath at our space — a 90-minute meditation event. I typically find the room cold, so I had bundled up in a full sweatsuit, ready to be still for a long stretch. But it was the end of June, the air conditioning was off, and, to my surprise, the room was actually warm. So I turned to a colleague and said, simply: "It is surprisingly warmer than I expected today."
That was it. An observation. A comment. My way of connecting — sharing what I was noticing in the moment.
But what came back was a response about how people always complain about the weather, wanting it hot when it is cold and cold when it is hot. I was not complaining. I was not wishing for anything different. I was just saying something out loud, the way I always do — and it landed as something else entirely.
These moments used to spiral me. I would second-guess everything — my words, my tone, whether I had done something wrong in the way the feeling-to-thought-to-share process worked. The anxious thought trajectories would pile up:
Do I complain without realising it? Is there something wrong with how I communicate? Am I broken?
What ADHD has given me is a framework for understanding these patterns without blaming myself for them. I am learning that the way my brain processes information is not broken — it is just different. I cannot control how someone else receives what I say. But I can understand why I say it. And that understanding has shifted something important for me.
As a Somatic Experiencing Practitioner, one of the things I notice — both in myself and in my clients — is how much ADHD lives in the body. The racing thoughts get all the attention, but beneath them is often a physical experience that goes unspoken. A tightness in the chest. A buzzing in the limbs. A jaw that will not unclench. A deep fatigue that sleep does not fix.
When your brain is constantly scanning, planning, compensating, and masking, your body stays in a state of activation. Over time, this can contribute to burnout — the kind where you are still functioning on the outside but feel hollow on the inside.I wrote about this cycle in Balancing Rest and Responsibility — the guilt of resting, the inability to switch off — and for many women with ADHD, this can feel less like a phase and more like a pattern that has been running for a long time.
In somatic therapy, we slow down enough to notice what the body is carrying. We do not try to fix the ADHD. We work with the exhaustion, the tension, and the activation that have built up over years of pushing through. It is not about forcing calm — it is about creating the conditions for the nervous system to begin to settle.
Here is something I hear often from clients with ADHD — and something I have experienced myself: traditional, structured approaches can sometimes feel like another thing to get right. The homework, the worksheets, the expectation to sit still and process verbally in a linear way — it can trigger the very patterns of performance and perfectionism that brought you to therapy in the first place.
This is where art therapy offers a different way in.
In art therapy, there is no right answer. There is no homework to forget. There is just the invitation to see what wants to emerge. If your brain tends to resist linear processing or structured tasks, this can feel like a different kind of space. The hands move. The colours speak. And often, what surfaces through the creative process is more honest than anything words could have reached.
You do not need to be an artist. You do not need to make something beautiful. You just need to be willing to let your hands do what your mind cannot always articulate.
One of the most profound shifts in my own journey has been the move from self-blame to self-understanding. For years, I carried stories about myself — that I was too much, not enough, too sensitive, too scattered. Discovering ADHD did not erase those stories overnight, but it gave me a different lens to see them through.
I am learning in real time. Integrating what I can and letting go of what no longer serves me. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I do not — but I am learning. And for me, that is inspiring.
Self-compassion is not always easy to access, especially when you have spent years being told — or telling yourself — that you should be able to do better. I wrote about this more in Self-Compassion During Mental Health Week — the idea that kindness toward yourself is not a luxury, but a foundation.
ADHD does not need to be fixed. But the exhaustion, the shame, and the disconnection from yourself — those deserve attention. And there are gentle, creative, body-based ways to begin.
If you are newly discovering ADHD, or if you have been carrying a diagnosis and are looking for support that honours the whole of you — your body, your creativity, your unique way of processing the world — we can talk about it.
I do not diagnose ADHD, but I do offer a space where you can explore how it shows up in your life, your body, and your relationships — therapy that meets you exactly where you are.
Ultimately, even when others do not understand us, we can begin to understand ourselves. And that can be a meaningful place to begin.
Book a free consultation and let's have a real conversation about what support could look like for you.
Until next time,
- Bethany
Disclaimer: This blog is for educational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional therapy or medical advice. If you need support, please consult a licensed mental health professional.
